By nightfall, they reached a river that cut through the landscape like a silver blade. The water was calm, reflecting the stars above.
Rey crouched beside it, filling a waterskin. "We'll camp here for the night."
Arinn plopped onto the ground, exhausted. "Do you always walk this much?"
Rey chuckled. "You'll get used to it."
As they ate a small meal of dried meat and bread, Arinn gazed at the sky. "Do you think mom and dad are looking at these same stars?"
Rey looked up. "Maybe."
A rustling in the bushes snapped them both to attention. Rey's hand went to his sword, and Arinn instinctively reached for the small dagger Rey had given him.
A figure stepped into the firelight—a man in a dark cloak, his face partially obscured. His voice was calm but firm.
"You shouldn't be here."
Rey narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
The old man glanced at Arinn, then back at Rey. "Because something is hunting travelers on this road. And if you're heading east, you're walking straight into danger."
A Warning in the Dark.
The man introduced himself as Rhys, a wandering swordsman who had been tracking a series of disappearances along the eastern road.
"People vanish without a trace," Rhys explained. "No bodies, no screams—just gone."
Arinn shuddered. "You think something's taking them?"
Rhys nodded. "And if you're looking for your parents, be careful. They might have been taken too."
Rey clenched his fists. "Then we'll find out who's behind it."
Rhys studied Rey, then smirked. "You're either very brave or very stupid."
Rey stood. "Maybe both."
Rhys chuckled. "Then I'll come with you. I've been tracking this mystery for weeks. If we're heading the same way, we might as well join forces."
Arinn looked between them. "You're good with a sword, right?"
Rhys grinned. "Good enough to keep you alive, kid."